All the Things I Never Said
by Intrepid Inkweaver
Summary: Alcohol can make you think about all the things you've lost and about things that you normally push away. Rated for language.


A/N: So, I'm trying to improve my Dean voice, but I'm not sure how I'm doing with it. Please review and let me know what you think!

It wasn't like I even pretended to try to understand why you did what you did. I know that I should've tried but I was just so shocked to find out that the one person I had come to trust—to be there when I needed it—above all the others had betrayed me. It was like a slap to the face. No—scratch that. More like a crow bar.

Sam and Bobby were telling me their suspicions about you and how Crowley managed to survive and it seemed ridiculous. I wanted to believe that they were just being too paranoid for their own good, but I knew they had a point. I still wouldn't entertain the idea without some proof against you. And I can admit now, another part of my mangled heart died when we trapped you in the holy fire and found out what had been happening in the past months. It hurt that you didn't ask for help. But that hurt is more guilt than anything.

I can look back and try to see a time when I helped you—really helped you for your sake, not because the world was ending—and I honestly can't think of one. How do I hold that to the plain fact that you once gave up everything to help me? I don't think I ever even thanked you for that. There're a lot of things on my mind now that I wanted to say but never did. Thank you. I'm sorry. I care about you more than I ever let on.

I didn't want to just use you, take you for granted, though I know that's how it ended up. No one ever knows how much I care—not when it matters, at least. You didn't even wanna ask me for help when you needed it. What kind of bastard am I, I wonder?

Now there's really nothing much left of me. I know I'm a shell of what I once was. No one has to tell me that, though it certainly seems like they think talking about it will make it better.

You know, now that I'm rambling on about things that I never tell anyone, I might as well come clean about this one too, damn it. I don't even admit this to myself most of the time, but I'm pretty drunk right now so what the hell.

Cas, I've been in love with you for a long time now. Don't know when the hell it happened. Certainly didn't see it coming. Now I think I should have. You pulled me out of Hell, for God's sake. I don't know when it started, but I do know when I realized it.

I met a future version of you in 2014 when that dick Zachariah was trying to teach me a lesson. You were a twisted form of yourself, mixed into drugs and booze and women. And you were broken. I saw it in your eyes. There was no grace left, just the shell and some of the mind. I say "some" because it was like more than just your power had been leached away. Your essence seemed to be missing, too. That probably scared me more than anything else in that hell. At the time, not even Lucifer riding around in my brother's body shook me more than seeing that version of you did. My faith in Sammy at that point was wobbly, but I had started to put more and more faith in you without even realizing it.

When Zack brought me back and you made your rescue just at the right time, I looked—really looked—at you. Seeing you–mostly-whole and unbroken made me realize just how hard I'd fallen for you—and how very fucked I was.

After the whole "fuck he's an angel" reaction, I did everything I could to deny it, of course. To run away from it. For a normal person with an apple pie life, falling in love is described as difficult. Imagine what that's like for people like me. How dangerous that could be. I mean, look at the way Sam and I have been used against each other. Besides, you're a friggin' Angel of the Lord and I'm pretty sure there's something that says miserable, damaged hunters aren't supposed to fall in love with their angelic best friends.

I couldn't always just avoid it. Even before I Realized it—capital R and all. What would you have thought if you had known what forced itself into my head that night before we trapped Raphael? God, I even gave you the Last Night on Earth speech. I honestly don't know whether to be thankful or not that you're so damn clueless.

Now all I can do is wonder about the what-ifs. You're gone, and all I've got left is your damn trench coat. It doesn't answer when I talk to it. I'd know by now, I've been rattling on at for an hour after all. It hasn't said a word.


End file.
